Burned
by Ayoshen
Summary: Cameron's internal monologue lasting... minutes? Hours? Days? Who knows. / Figured there were too little stories with Cameron doubting. Veeery slight hints of Hameron as I see it.
1. Burned

**Author's Note:** I've been stressed out beyond all limits lately. This is just something to vent… I don't even… out of my system. Because I so need to and because Cadley makes me a happier camper. Written during eh 20 minutes. Oh yeah school starts tomorrow. FML :[

* * *

><p>Wilson was right when he spotted me watching her helping out in the ER, absentmindedly shuffling through folders even though my thoughts were somewhere else entirely. He said I should stop trying to figure her out, because she does neither want to be figure out nor is meant to be. I didn't understand what he meant then, but I'm pretty sure I do now.<p>

It's Rubik's complex. We all know House has had it for years, and apparently, it's contagious. And no matter how ridiculous it seems, to me it's the sickest I've ever been. It's spreading faster than plague and it doesn't kill me within hours or days, instead it waits, like the komodo dragon, who lets its poison flow into the wound and then watches the victim bleed to death. It's like torture, really. Thousands, millions of little knives digging into my skin. I can't see them, I can't feel them, but I know they're there, and believe it or not, knowing is already too hard to bear, maybe even more than the pain itself, because if I could see them and feel them, I would also know I could get rid of them and that it would stop. This doesn't.

I know she's there. But then the only other thing I know is that I know nothing, and I hate not knowing anything! He's changed me. I've become him. Am I really that miserable?

She's always there. Always the same. Nothing ever changes. Always witty, always helpful, always beautiful – what am I even _saying_ – always a _mystery_. But maybe Wilson is right. Maybe she doesn't want to be solved. How can I feed my curiosity without causing her discomfort? Right now, I'm not sure which I want more. No, actually, I'm pretty sure I know which option it is, but that's the only thing in the world I do _not_ want to know. I do not want to be obsessed. I don't want to be this person I've become.

Then again, we share things. Looks. Smiles. The occassional brush of hands. Like coworkers. Right? …Right?

I don't want to hurt anyone, but if I don't do something soon, I fear I might break down completely. This is all completely new to me, okay? I've never felt so… needy… in my life. She's like a rose, a rose so beautiful that even in a bouquet full of the exact same, velvet, thorny roses, she would still stand out like orange in blue. And when you see such a rose, naturally you want to preserve it, you never want to see it wilt. You'd rather see it frozen in ice and time. Forever. Anyone would.

Yet for some reason, I'm the only one who seems to acknowledge this rose's beauty. Maybe I'm just being delusional. But even if she were just another rose in the flowerpot, I want to – I _need_ to – look after it. It's an instinct. If I don't do it, the gardener himself might have a heart attack. Unfortunately for me, that's who I am. That's what he's made me into. Being with him, under his control and direct influence for so long; he imposed things on me, things I never thought I would have to deal with. Now he's retired and I'm the only one left here alone with the knowledge that I must act but don't know how.

I just hope I won't get burned.


	2. Paranoid

**Author's Note:** Vent, part two. That's _my_ remedy. I don't even know what this is about, really.

* * *

><p>It's too much to bear. All of this. Those countless times we were talking in one of the on-call rooms with a cup of hot coffee and I could have sworn she was going to confide in me but changed her mind literally one second before speaking up and turning the whole thing upside down, as if there was nothing wrong, even though it's blatantly obvious that there is. I don't want to force her. I don't want to interrogate her. I just want to help the rose survive. But how can I do that without knowing how sick it is?<p>

I haven't slept well in days because I kept thinking about her. I wonder if that's how House feels? If yes, then I can't understand how he's so brilliant all the time and not a sleep-deprived zombie like me. I grabbed the wrong syringe today; I almost killed a person.

I guess he pulls through because he gets to solve the puzzle most of the time. Fate hasn't blessed me with the same gift.

Maybe it's beause I'm a woman, intrigued by mysteries. Remy is an enigma, a child in a bubble. Maybe the unknown is to women what shiny objects are to magpies. God damn feelings make me have to struggle with my own will. I'm fighting a losing battle nonetheless. What kind of existence is that?

I never actually address her by the name. I only know because of a file concerning her health state; that I might have considered reading, but I'm in no place to pry into her privacy. I just want to know who she is and what this means. I want to know everything so bad. Why? Why can't I keep this urge under control? Has always finding the right answer in the end for years turned me into this?

She's like fire. It's bright and captivating, doing its own little dance, and when you stare at it long enough, you start to believe you can hold it in your hand, that everyone who's ever told you it burns was mistaken and that every time you've experienced it on your own, it was a mere coincidence. Then you reach for it, and you get hurt by the flames. Then again if it's the pain that brings you down to earth, maybe I need just that.

I sure as hell need _something,_ but at the same time I'm scared of the pain; which is only rational, no? It's just another animal instinct. It's like a vaccine that hurts a little to prevent much worse potential problems in the future. I need to get my vaccine. I can do it. I'm ready. Because the vaccine won't kill me, but as time passes, the fear will for sure.

I can't wait till I get home and till I'm finally able to break down freely. That's my remedy and the only thing that can help before it comes back to eat me alive.

Who is this Allison? Not only am I obsessed, I'm also paranoid.


End file.
